


l'amour que je porte à cette époque obsolète

by amako



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Corvo is tired, Daud gets himself a lord protector, Low Chaos Corvo Attano, Low Chaos Daud (Dishonored), M/M, Mute Corvo Attano, Panic Attacks, Recovery, let him rest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 17:27:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14477637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amako/pseuds/amako
Summary: "You're crying, bodyguard."But he's not, he's not, it's the raindrops rolling on his cheeks and nothing but the exhaustion making him gasp and sob. He's bowing from the waist, stomach on his knees and it rains, it rains so much.





	l'amour que je porte à cette époque obsolète

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thegrumblingirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrumblingirl/gifts).



> Title is from Fremen by Kyo (I adore this song so much) it means "the love that I have for this obsolete era"
> 
> Corvo/Daud is my ultimate otp and nothing pains me more than the depressing amount of stories about them (though the existing stories are so incredible, I can't really complain) (*coughcough* assassins don't take sides *coughcough*)

They sit together, shoulders brushing with every gasping breath they manage to rip from the stale air around them. Daud is looking at his hands, bloody and covered in a network of scars and regrets. Corvo's eyes are on the sky, looming and grey like it so often is in Dunwall, dark clouds threatening to spill at every moment. They sit together and they don't speak, struggling to recover from the fight (and the exhaustion and the poison and the panic _andandand_ ).

Then a whaler starts to stir, on the broken floor above them where Corvo dropped him a lifetime ago. Slowly, he rolls and gets on his knees, heaving at the nausea brought by the sleeping dart. When he raises his head, blond hair sticking out under his hood and obviously looking for something, the first thing out of his mouth is a cry.

 

"Daud!"

 

It shouldn't matter, witnessing the worry of an assassin for his master. There is no reason for the surge of emotions suddenly choking Corvo, and yet. He chokes and he chokes, oxygen failing him, and Dunwall's sky chooses this time to start raining.

 

"You're crying, bodyguard."

 

But he's not, he's not, it's the raindrops rolling on his cheeks and nothing but the exhaustion making him gasp and sob. He's bowing from the waist, stomach on his knees and it rains, it rains so much.

There is a hard hand on his back, unmoving but present, a weight anchoring him in the stink and humidity of the Flooded District. Then the hand moves just a bit, barely a centimetre, but it falls on one of the gashes left by the whip and he cries out. Immediately the hand vanishes and he hears a muttered curse next to him. A whooshing sound later, a shadow is kneeling in front of him and a quiet conversation is happening on his right.

He doesn't care. It rains too much for him to understand what they're talking about.

When the dizziness catches up to him, it's too late. He barely notices the needle under his skin before he passes out.

 

He wakes up with a headache and a firm need to throw up. There isn't much he can do about the first, but he does roll on the side of the questionable mattress he's lying on and empties his stomach. In the pot that was waiting for him. Uh.

Corvo registers the wet cloth on his face a second after the presence of someone next to him. He tenses immediately, before realising that they're only wiping the sweat from his forehead. His tired eyes find the masked form of a whaler on the end of the caring arm and he does his best not to freak out. He prides himself in doing a pretty good job, all things considered.

The coolness on his skin helps him realise a couple of things in the next seconds. First, he's still in the Flooded District, in what could be an infirmary of sorts. Second, his ripped and stained uniform is gone and he's shirtless. Which leads to him freaking out entirely this time.

No one has seen his bare skin since Coldridge, since the burning brand on his chest and the whip on his back. There is nothing left of the Lord Protector Jessamine knew. Now he's a mountain of messed up flesh and and scar tissue. In a way, he's glad. It helps him remember what he lost and what he'll never be.

The whaler isn't talking and Corvo doesn't prompt him too. The silence is soothing after the raging storm in his mind. He lets the man wipe away the exhaustion and the fury, leaving him bare and breathless. He feels empty and light, like something is missing and yet he's never felt more complete, not since a sunny day under a gazebo.

Finally, the whaler takes a step back and puts the cloth on a small tray next to him, before turning around and grabbing something on a nearby chair. Corvo tenses, fully realising how helpless he is without his weapons and still a good chunk of mana missing. Only the man doesn't threaten him and merely drops a pile of clothes on the bed. Corvo blinks owlishly at the dark shirt and whaler coat, before shrugging them on. He buttons the woollen coat and slowly drops on his feet, glad to find them steady underneath his weight.

 

"When you're ready, Master Daud wants to speak to you," the whaler finally speaks, pointing to the ceiling.

 

Corvo nods, already exhausted at the idea of communicating. He's not about to ignore that kind of invitation though, not after the gang of assassins took him in without doing him any harm. He doesn't know what they could possibly get out of this, but he's tired of running and deep down, the rage is still storming inside his heart at the idea of facing Jessamine's killer.

He walks to the window and curls his left hand into a fist. A couple of blinks later, he's on the shaking mount of sheet metal. The infirmary is way below the office, not far from the sewers where he can hear a rune calling for him. He's not about to take it with another Marked near, but the information is still good to have in case he has to make a hasty retreat.

Corvo is about to walk into the office when Daud blinks in front of him, the black particles of his power flying around his built frame. He nods in Corvo's direction before stepping behind his desk, the key he almost stole still hanging from the little hook nailed to the wood.

 

"I trust Leander took good care of you? You were unconscious for a little more than half a day."

 

Corvo sighs, seeing the expectation in Daud's eyes and knowing he won't be able to make this work without exposing himself a bit. Gods, does he loath this helplessness, the constant reminder of failure branded on him like the burn scars on his chest. He doesn't have any other options though, so he walks to the assassin's desk and braces himself. Then, he opens his mouth.

The sharp intake of breath and the widened eyes are far less than he expected when faced with the slaughter hidden by his usually closed lips. Corvo closes his mouth and looks away, not wanting to witness the pity and disgust he's sure to find on the other man's face.

 

"I see. I know sign language, if it helps," Daud offers, looking dubious.

 

Corvo shakes his head. He doesn't know the signs, never had a reason to, and he sorely regrets it now that he's starved of his main way of communication. Daud doesn't look surprised at his negative response and gathers some writing supplies, pulling two chairs next to the desk so they may converse more easily. Corvo is insanely grateful for the lack of judgment, though he feels a spike of spite because how could he _dare_ judge him after what he's done? After all, Daud is the reason he ended up in Coldridge in the first place.

Corvo greets his teeth and sits down, pulling the paper and quill pen towards his end of the desk. This is not the time for fury and resentment. He's had months to wallow in those. Now, he has to get Emily back and the murderer sitting half a metre away from him is his best chance at that.

 

"This is a complicated situation, bodyguard. I can't just let you go now that you know where my whalers stay."

Corvo raises an eyebrow and writes down his answer. _I'd like to see you try._

"I'm not saying I'll be stopping you. I'm asking for your discretion."

_In exchange of what?_

"I'm not an idiot. You wouldn't let anyone close enough to poison you unless you trusted them. I made a few educated guesses."

_Then here is my deal, assassin. I keep quiet about your home and you give me everything I need to get the Empress back._

Daud frowns. "They have Lady Emily?"

 

Corvo nods, his fist tightening around the pen. To think he trusted them, that he left Emily amongst those traitorous bastards only to have her taken away from him again...

 

"Then we have a deal. I have no interest in seeing the Regent on the throne, not when he's the one threatening us the most at the moment. You have my whalers, providing you don't double-cross us."

Corvo snorts. _One against, what, fifty of you? You really think I have chance?_

"Don't play that game with me, Attano. You sneaked into our base and incapacitated thirty of my men before I caught you, and even then you beat me in a one-on-one. Don't try to pretend like your not the most dangerous person in the room."

 

Corvo tries not to smirk and fails miserably. It's nice to have his talents acknowledge, after being a protector for all these years. Not that he has done a good job at it, though. Managing to lose both his charge and wife and his daughter in less than a year must have set a new record. He refuses to think of it right now, though, and Daud is proving to be a suitable distraction. The man is a rough painting of murder, fierceness and loyalty. Corvo is not used to seeing this, not after two decades in the Palace.

 

“So we have a deal. A bed will be set up for you here, if you want to rest some more. Void knows you need it.”

 

Corvo shows him his teeth. How _dare_ he, how – he sighs. He needs to reign in that temper, if he's going to stay with the people who ruined his life. He doesn't realize his eyes are closed until a now familiar weight settles between his shoulder blades. Corvo exhales.

 

“We have your back now, bodyguard.”

 

Corvo opens his eyes and looks into the soul of the assassin in front of him. Somehow, he believes him.

 


End file.
